The Niceties Of It
by EvilVampireDucky
Summary: A series of vignettes to my story Tabby Cat, told in non-chronological order. An Unremarkable Grave: a passing thought leads Ciel to the cemetery, and the fourth white cross that had been previously unnoticed. Words: 857 Updated: October 29th
1. The Niceties of It

**This is a snapshot of a conversation between Ciel and Tabby, and views upon humanity, more or less.**** It takes place during chapter 13 of Tabby Cat, which is recommended you read to understand the relationship between Tabby(my oc) and Ciel. To further specify when this takes place, it is between the time they arrive home, after dealing with the Azzurro Vanel situation, and before Tabby's nightmare. **

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><p>Ciel, that night, could be found in his study, bandages sporadically covering his small body. The game with Azzurro Vanel had not been particularly difficult, nor enjoyable. He might have hoped for a small semblance of a challenge, but his request was, once more, not granted.<p>

He was however, curious about the black and turquoise haired girl who had taken a kick to the stomach, which, if had landed on its intended target, might have severely injured him.

She had no reason to that he could fathom; certainly, he allowed her in his home, and she had told him that she was the reincarnation of a little sister he had no memory of. But why did she feel it necessary to protect him?

He had very little worth protecting.

Thinking of the girl had almost summoned her, it seemed, for without knocking, the door swung open, her hair bouncing as she bounded in clad in her night gown. "Ciel," she chirped, plopping undignified in the seat before him. A wince pulled from her throat, and she immediately arched her side away from the chair, muttering to herself. "Gotta get used to that bruise..."

He made note that she was indeed injured from that kick she had taken for him. "Tabby," Her gaze turned from glaring at the chair's armrest, to Ciel's own mismatched blue eyes. His eye patch had been forsaken due to a cut under his brow, leaving the iridescent sigil carved into his eye free for all the world to see.

"Why did you protect me?"

If anything, it looked as if she expected any topic but that to be brought up.

"Why? That's what people do." She had said it so matter-of-factly, that he realized she truly believed this.

He corrected her instantly. "No. People cheat; steal; lie. They destroy those unfortunate enough to be below them, and make attempts to woo those above them so they themselves are not destroyed. They protect no one but themselves, and step on those who provide avenues for protecting themselves."

Her gaze, which he had expected defiance, as tended to be her usual reaction, was full of pity, something he never wished to be seen directed towards him.

"You truly believe that." She whispered, quoting his earlier thoughts about her. "Perhaps, in the world you've seen. But you've never really sought to see the good in the world- after all, the last time you saw it was when you were nine." He could feel his jaw tighten. "Afterwards, when you became cynical enough to actually take note of the evil, you had casted away the belief of the good."

He sent the girl a hard glare, angered at her analysis of him.

"It is difficult to believe in the good, when it was a demon that saved you."

If possible, the pity in her eyes worsened. "Did Sebastian save you?" were her light words, almost inaudible, as if she were talking to herself. "At what cost? You traded one hell for another."

The truth of this was well known to him; but he hadn't expected her to know it, let alone throw it back in his face.

"This hell is more tolerable."

With a nod, she conceded his point. "I suppose, in comparison, it is. But then, you gave up your chance to be human."

A small sneer curled on his lips. "I have no wish to be human. I told you- people cheat, steal, and lie. Destruction follows in their footsteps, as well as their path ahead. There is no such thing as the _good_ you attempt to convince me to see."

"Then what am I?"

The softness of the tone halted him, and he peered at the girl who had spoken quietly, despite the hard edge in her eyes.

"I suppose..." He considered both her and his next words carefully. "...that if it were necessary to put a face to a name, you would be good."

She nodded seriously, her expression flat while she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm glad you can see it. Now, I'm going to tell you a couple secrets: first rule of life, everybody lies." He blinked. "Even the good. I lie. Finny lies. The little girl selling oranges lies. Does that make them any less good? Any less pure of heart?" She cut him off before he could answer. "_No_, it doesn't. And that question was rhetorical. Second: I've cheated before. All through Spanish class, I cheated off homework and tests. I've cheated out my mother, by pretending to be sick so I didn't have to go to school. I'm still _good_ though, no? After all, it was _you_ who said so. And thirdly: I've stolen. I stole my best friend's favorite shirt because it was my favorite shirt. Granted, I was six at the time. I stole twenty dollars from my father because I wanted to go out with my friends, and he wouldn't give me any money." Her voice, which had been of normal volume, dipped.

"I've stolen a piece of my family's love, by coming here. Some of their life. I've stolen a bit of their happiness. Does that make me less good?"

Ciel didn't answer her for a few moments, his gaze hooded from hers. "That is beyond your control. From my understanding, you did not intend to travel through time by nearly drowning in the Thames."

"No, I didn't." She conceded, and his eyes jerked up to look back at her. "But I chose to walk along with you, who's every foot step brings not only destruction, but despair. I chose to walk along with you, knowing that you aren't good, and that by the end of it, nor will I be.

"That, Ciel, is why I protected you." She must have seen something flicker in his eyes, because she elaborated. "I chose to follow you. I chose you, and the path you lead, over the ignorance of what is good. By doing so, I decided that we will be, eventually, one in the same. And a person, no matter their virtues and vices, will protect someone that reminds them of themselves."

Seeing her little speech done, she stood up, the slight contortions of her face telling Ciel she was withholding a wince. Despite seeing this, he made no comment, analyzing her, and her words. Indeed, he would have hidden his pain, as she tried to. She wasn't like him yet, but she was on that path. Perhaps not walking beside him, hand in hand, but half a step behind, the good he supposedly saw in her tainting with each step she took.

"I suppose, over all," Tabby said, opening the door. "That's the niceties of it."

Once she left, likely to head to bed, Ciel allowed himself to ponder her words, as well as his own. He had said, if one must give a face to a name, that she could be described as good. But she herself had spoken truer words.

The first rule of life: everybody lies.

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><p><strong>So, sorry I haven't updated in almost two months; I've been a bit depressed, and reading lots of fanfiction in an effort to avoid being social. To be honest, my 1st person writing style has degraded drastically, and I've been rather upset by it not being up to my personal standards. (oh, and I've been procrastinating because I dont want to write the Abbey Arc)<strong>

**In all fairness though, I think my 3rd person is at its current best. Which is why I did a 3rd person pov. **

**I really enjoy Tabby and Ciel's relationship, even before its really developed. I expect to do more of these sidefics, because they seem great for writers block, and give me reasons to explore different aspects of the characters.**

**Anyways, sorry I haven't updated TC yet, there's some feels because (gasp!) Tabby has a problem with Ciel's actions. And Ciel, despite his best efforts to appear older, is still a 13 year old boy with an ego the size of Russia.**


	2. The Most Peculiar Quirk

**This takes place after chapter 24 of Tabby Cat. It however, is not necessary to have read previously, as this is a focus on Lizzie, and to an extent, Ciel.**

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><p>The blonde allowed tears to fall freely, as she cried for her dearly departed Aunt. She had been moved by her fiancé's actions, a moment where he had truly proven how much the woman was worth to him.<p>

But, even now, days after the funeral, she allowed herself to ponder sadly, her thoughts headed down a dreary road.

Ciel had offered no cause of death, for their dear Aunt An. Certainly, she had been aware that her chest had been mutilated. But Ciel had refrained from answering the question she had always asked, giving rise to her suspicions.

The green eyed girl knew of her fiancé's position within the seedier parts of society. Her father wasn't part of the Underworld, no, but her mother had been aware of it. And her mother was not one to molly-coddle. She told her the stark naked truth, and didn't allow anything but.

So, she was aware she was marrying the Queen's Guard Dog. She was aware of his actions, and often times her thoughts would wander on that topic.

More often than not, a singular question arose.

How many skeletons were in his closet?

It was a question that had come up the first time she had suspected his involvement in the death of one of the Barons, nearly two years ago. A highly respected member of society was not killed without reason. It had later been announced that the Baron had a child slave-trade going, and the killer had been doing society a favor over all.

That was when she determined she needed a way to determine if Ciel, as the Queen's guard dog, had taken a part in the death of those within the obituary.

So far, it had worked rather well.

She had read the papers, last month. A man by the name of Azzurro Vanel -who she knew to have been an Aristocrat of Evil- had died, after his manor had been attacked. There had been a small mention, that there was evidence of the man dealing drugs, and was well aware of the Queen's position on that matter.

As well as the fact she could say with near certainty Ciel had been responsible for his death; for he had not answered her question.

Whenever the girl considered a recent death she had read in the paper, she would ponder casually to the boy aloud, "I wonder why they died." and if their deaths were more heinous, she substituted _died_ for _killed._

Often times, the boy responded with the answer he had learnt in the paper, or things he had gleaned about the individual overall and gave his own thoughts on the matter. And if he had no thoughts, he would usually snark a reply of _"How am I supposed to know?"_ or _"It is of no concern of mine."_

No, it wasn't foolproof; by no means was her method exact. But it occurred with far more frequency than she would have liked.

He had appeared to have seen her questions as nothing more than a quirk she had, if not a rather peculiar one. That was rather the way she wanted it. Because, she had discovered over time, that she had developed a method in which she herself could glean information from.

For you see, if Ciel had a part in one's death, he would not give a reason; he would not voice his thoughts on the matter. Surely, she had determined, his thoughts were much bloodier than a casual glance at the obituary.

That was how Elizabeth -never was she Lizzie in mourning- found herself staring sadly out her window, to the church she was aware her Aunt was buried.

"Elizabeth," The younger blonde lifted her head, to acknowledge the strength woman who was her mother. "What are you doing, staring out the window like so? One would think you were pondering the meaning of life."

Slowly, she blinked, before looking out the window once more. "I am, I suppose." She could almost see the expression her mother shot her. "You see, over time, I have established a way of asking Ciel —without his notice— if a person's death was due to Underworld involvement. Specifically, his."

There was a beat of silence. "And what is this way?"

"I ponder to him why that person died." Elizabeth turned to look at her mother, who sat on the window sill next to her. "If he summarizes what he knows, he had no part. If he does not answer, I can garner he played a part in their death, if not the direct cause."

Her mother nodded, and the young woman took this as an acceptable way to determine such a thing, returning her gaze to the church. "You have not yet explained why you are staring out the window so sullenly."

There was no hesitation when the blonde answered; only an echo of pain within her voice, as if resigned to the answer she had already determined.

"I asked about Aunt An." Her voice was hollow, and she mentally made a tally mark within her mind before she continued;

"And Ciel did not answer."

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><p><strong>Truly, Lizzie is one of my favorite characters. She's not shallow, and she's smarter than most people make her out to be. She's a sword prodigy, and wants to protect Ciel by allowing him to protect her, though will break face if it comes to that.<strong>

**She's a three dimensional character whom I absolutely adore.**

**Anyways, no Tabby, just an insight to Lizzie's head.**

**No update to Tabby Cat yet, sorry. But, if anyone has any particular scene they'd like to see (not necessarily Tabby-centric), just something I might have mentioned in passing in Tabby Cat, or glassed over. I would like some feelsy, heart wrenching painful prompts tho, because those are fun. Truly. I'm a masochist. **

**But yeah, shoot me a prompt. It might help towards getting over my writers block.**


	3. An Unremarkable Grave

**Greetings people! Sorry again for my ****disappearance; my personal problems got worse, and it all sort of felt like it collapsed in on itself.  
>But yes. Hello. Here's another vignette, featuring Ciel. Its not particularly interesting, nor long, but oh well. Tabby Cat has also been updatedis being updated at this time.**

**This takes place after Madam Red's death, but before her funeral in chapter 24 of Tabby Cat.**

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><p>His footsteps were slow and assured, each step carefully measured with intimidation. This was, after all, the way any individual of society was supposed to walk; no matter your surroundings, no matter the going-ons of one's life, no matter any thoughts one might have; you were to walk with purposeful strides. You were to walk with confidence; with pride.<p>

Therefore, no one would be any the wiser to the young Earl Phantomhive's trepidation as his feet carried him to his destination.

Ciel had only been within the Phantomhive Cemetery once— the day he had made the contract with the demon. Not out of fear, respect, or anything of the sort; he hadn't entered the cemetery merely because he had never found any need.

That brought the boy's thoughts to his venture today.

He had been pondering over the news of an Evangeline Phantomhive for a little over two months; which meant, overall, he gave it a passing thought on occasion. Madam Red's death had had him considering the recently deceased woman's burial placement, and had nearly chosen to place her in the Phantomhive plot. Eventually however, he decided the ancestral Phantomhive land was solely meant for those who carried the Phantomhive name.

And despite how much Aunt An might have wished it, out of her two names, Phantomhive was not one of them.

The small thought had occurred to him —in passing, as he signed the agreement for Madam Red's burial plot— that Evangeline Phantomhive must have been buried within its premises, for she bore the Phantomhive name, if only for the few months she was alive.

There was a pregnant pause filling his thoughts, as he had never considered it before. That a sibling who he had no recollection of was buried a hundred yards away from his current position.

Curiosity eventually won out within the boy, which was how he found himself crossing the threshold of the cemetery archway.

Four white crosses marked his destination. He knew two to be his parents, where their charred corpses were likely nothing more than skeletal remains. A third he recognized as his own grave— he had not ordered its removal, due to reasoning that the Ciel Phantomhive he once was died in that one month absence. He had died, submerged in Hell, only to be reborn into a new Hell.

Truly, he mused, symbolism Edgar Allen Poe would be proud of.

The fourth cross, sitting silently and inconspicuously, had not been noticed the first time he had been in the cemetery gates. It was singularly unremarkable; though the same could have been said against the other three crosses, had he not been aware of their meaning. He knew what the names Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive meant; he knew the lives they had led, he knew the pain they had felt. He understood their worth, for it was their graves that made his ears ring with silence. But a grave, marked with an unknown name, was extraordinarily commonplace. Their name did not stir feelings of grief; there was no remembrance of the life they had led, no assumptions to the pain they felt. There was no experience, no memory to attach to the name.

A grave meant little to one when the name meant little.

The soft crunching of grass came to a halt when Ciel did, staring at the name with little interest. As suspected, the name _Evangeline Phantomhive_ was carved into the marble embedded in the ground, accompanied by smaller dates of _October 28, 1877 — January 21, 1878_.

Absently, he noted Tabby had arrived to this time on January 21, 1888, and wondered for a moment if there was a reason, before dismissing it. If there was a purpose for her date of arrival, it meant little now. He spared little time for the past, and already, he was sparing more than he intended, peering down at a grave that would have encased a small infant once. He doubted even the child's bones were left by that time.

His singular azure eye swept over the other three slabs of marble, a small pang of remorse budding in his heart. He allowed himself to feel the small emotion; the mere sorrow of missing what once was, and perhaps, might have been, had Evangeline Phantomhive lived past infancy.

The moment lasted less than a minute, and once more with purposeful, assured steps, walked back towards his manor home. The calm, measured strides betrayed none of his thoughts; perhaps one expected his shoulders to shake with grief. Or for slow, unsteady steps that echoed painful memories. One might have thought he was hiding his sorrow, behind the mask that made him an Earl, the only sign, a deep saddened emotion within his lone visible eye.

But there was none of this; his thoughts were calm and placid, merely musing over something that had peaked his interest on Evangeline's grave.

His sister had been born October 28th; the current date was October 13th.

Perhaps the green haired —_turquoise!_ the small voice that sounded suspiciously like Tabby corrected in his head— girl taking residence in his home had a birthday coming up.

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><p><strong>Shoot me a prompt or something, you guys~ I have a few ideas from a couple people, but I'd like more to build from. Love you all, and thank you so much for the support :wuzzle:<strong>


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